


Stories About My Sorcerers

by Syntax



Series: Stories About My D&D Characters [7]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Adoption, Anthology, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Homebrew Content, Police corruption, References to Prostitution, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntax/pseuds/Syntax
Summary: Sometimes you create the perfect character and then can't find a game to play them in. So naturally, the next best thing to do is write fanfiction about them.Chapter 1: If-Tyr-Had-Not-Bled-For-Thee-Thou-Hadst-Been-Damned Barebone, Tiefling Divine Soul Sorcerer
Series: Stories About My D&D Characters [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832869





	Stories About My Sorcerers

There's been a question weighting on their mind for years now. Probably the same question that weighs on every orphan's mind at some point, should they ever find themselves with a new family to love them.

It's only been in the last few months that they've been able to muster up the courage to think about maybe finally asking that question.

They're aimlessly moving scrambled eggs around on their plate when they finally say, "Hey, Dane?" 

Across from the kitchen table, their father looks up from his coffee. He doesn't eat breakfast in the mornings—never has, from what they know—but they've always been skinny enough that he insists on making sure they eat something in the mornings even if he doesn't. Keep their strength up.

There's a cynical, untrusting part of them that thinks maybe their father has different reasons for making sure they're not skin and bones, reasons related to the high rent and low pay he gets from being a city guard, but he's been more or less the perfect father for six years now, and they don't truly expect that to change any time soon. Dane Barebone was a man who would sooner sell himself to the streets than ask his child to do it for him, worthless tiefling child or not.

"Yes, Damned?" he says.

Now or never. They try to disguise the big exhale they need for courage by blowing on a bite of already half-cooled eggs. They stick the fork in their mouth and talk around their food before their nerves can leave them.

"How come you decided to take me in after the guards found me?"

There. There it us. The question is out in the open now and no matter how much they might want to, they would never be able to unspeak it out of existence.

Their father gives a thoughtful hum.

"Do you want the practical answer, or the storybook answer?"

They scowl. "I'm not a little kid."

"And yet you still act like one from time to time," their father teases gently.

"Shut."

"I'm just calling them like I see them, sweetie," he says, leaning back in his rickety chair. He leans back a bit too far and the chair starts to wobble, but he's able to just about correct himself before falling over. Crisis averted.

The chairs still suck, though. Actually, their apartment in general sucks, since everything inside it is either cheap or in some state of disrepair, thanks to the aforementioned low wages of a singular city guardsman. They've been looking to get a job, but every place they can find either doesn't want demons or doesn't want teenagers.

"But if you want an answer," their father says, breaking them out of their thoughts, "it's because I thought you were too young for penitentiary."

What.

"What," they say. "They were going to send me to prison? I stole a few _apples._ "

"According to the guard records, you were a serial burglar. The streets were more dangerous with you on them."

They're physically reeling from the blatant hypocrisy in that statement. The guards had taken far more from the city's poor and downtrodden than any burglar ever could, their father notwithstanding. Not to mention, they were _not_ a serial burglar. The apples had been their first offence.

"That is... Dane, that is incredibly fucked up."

"Language," their father chides. They ignore him.

"So what," they continued, emboldened by their father's answers, "You decided to adopt me because, what, you thought I had potential? You didn't want to see a kid in jail? You thought your coworkers were full of it?"

"All of the above," he says. He takes a sip of his coffee to punctuate the statement. "Plus, you reminded me a little of myself when I was your aged."

They quirk a brow. At thirteen years old they had been small enough and skinny enough to be mistaken for a younger boy, and had tried picking fights with any adult that so much as looked at them when they'd been pulled into the guard station. There's very little in that image that they can reconcile with their father, broad-shouldered and even-tempered that he is.

"You gonna elaborate on that?"

Their father hummed again. "No, I don't think I will," he says. "Now go ahead and finished your breakfast, honey. You've got lessons today, remember?"

They do. They roll their eyes before getting back to their eggs and toast, but they do.

At least that was one question answered, even if another sprung up in its place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If-Tyr-Had-Not-Bled-For-Thee-Thou-Hadst-Been-Damned Barebone, or "Damned" Barebone for short, is a tiefling divine soul sorcerer with very little interesting about them mechanically. Though if memory serves, when I was making them, they were the first character I can consciously remember going "you know what? there's no reason you can't be trans."


End file.
